10,000

A year ago this weekend, I was 18 weeks pregnant.  My gender-reveal ultrasound was scheduled for Tuesday, July 3, 2012.

A year ago on this Saturday evening, Jason and I took the kids to a Mexican restaurant in Greensboro (some place where kids eat free on Saturdays) and announced to them that they'd be welcoming a new brother or sister into the family near Thanksgiving.

They were excited.  :-)

I remember feeling awful that day.  I don't remember why, but I hadn't eaten much that day, and by the time I sat down for chips and salsa, I felt absolutely terrible.  One of those pregnancy things.

And a year ago on this Saturday evening, we met some friends at Maxie B's.

It was a good evening.

A year ago Sunday, I led worship at church.  It was a last-minute thing - the worship leader may have gotten sick?  I don't remember for sure.  But I filled in.  I don't lead often.  I enjoyed it that day.

And then, 2 days later, July 3 happened.  And life has never been the same.

How different things are a year later.  So much has changed.

Most Sundays these days, I'm behind the piano at my church in Asheboro.  I play with 2 of my really good friends, and though we're a small band, we work really well together.  :-)  I love my band.  

Tomorrow, I'm doing something a little different.  I'm supposed to play at a church near Charlotte.

We're playing one of my Chris Tomlin favorites - 'Whom Shall I Fear'.

We're playing 'Cornerstone' - one of my new favorites.  I think I might even want to try to lead that one sometime.  Which would be huge (for me, anyway), since I haven't led anything in a year.

We're playing 'Your Love Never Fails' and 'Forever Reign' - I'm really enjoying both of those.

And we're playing '10,000 Reasons'.

The last verse of that song:

  And on that day when my strength is failing
  The end draws near and my time has come
  Still my soul will sing your praise unending 
  Ten thousand years and then forevermore

I've seen that.  Experienced it.  I saw my daughter's strength fail.  I saw the end draw near.

And I was there when her time came.  When she began her '10,000 years', her 'forevermore'.

Not sure I'll be able to make it through that verse tomorrow.

But I will love playing it.

I've been remembering something lately - it comes to mind a LOT, and I don't know why.

Elliana was *with* me for 31 weeks and 5 days in utero.  She lay on my chest for a number of hours after she was born.  And then, she left with Funeral Home Man.

My tummy was empty.  My arms were empty.  My chest felt heavy... but empty.

But my right thumb traced the outline of my phone over, and over, and over.  For days.  I think maybe only while I was in the hospital.  My thumb felt and traced the outline of my phone.

Why did I do that?  Why do I remember that?

Was it because my hands had nothing - no baby - to feel and hold?  No soft head to rub?

Was it because my phone was 'security'?  And my hands just needed to be busy?

Was it the beginning of going crazy?

Does it even matter?

It might not be significant at all.  But I remember it.  And anything I remember that has anything to do with her is significant to me.

Ok

Tonight, I'm ok.  Sadness doesn't feel terribly heavy, I don't want to throw anything, and I can breathe mostly easily.

Tonight, I'm ok.

Just wanted to have a record of this night.  :-)

What Do You Do With the Pain

That's the question that's been ringing in my mind since I last saw the grief counselor almost 2 weeks ago.

What do you do with the pain?

He had examples.  Do you yell at your children?  (Well, if I'm being honest - sometimes.)  Take prescription drugs?  (No.)

What do I do with the pain.

Sometimes, I just stay busy.

Sometimes, I tear things apart.

Sometimes, I go shopping.

Sometimes, I have a glass of wine.  Or a margarita.

Sometimes, I start a huge project.

Sometimes, I just disappear into music.

One time, I threw something.

What do I do with the pain?  Most of the time, I think I try to avoid feeling it.

But then there are times that I just go there.  I just hurt.  My heart just aches.

It aches.

It just hurts so much on nights like tonight.  No particular reason.  It just hurts.  And it hurts so much that I don't know how I'm going to make it through all of tomorrow.  Much less, the rest of my life.

But...

There is a 'but'.  There is 'hope'.  Hurting is not all there is.  I just don't have it in me to go there tonight.

This blog might be my journal, but it's a public journal.  You can make a comment.  You can remind me of what the 'hope' is, since I can't verbalize it.  You can 'go there', when I can't.

And if I don't like what you say, I can always delete it.  :-)

I took care of Foster Baby for a couple hours today.  I was a little afraid of what it might be like to take care of a baby.  I was afraid I'd be really emotional, or have a hard time holding him.  But I wasn't emotional.  And it wasn't difficult to hold him.  The only time I really thought I might fall apart was when he fell asleep in my arms.  I looked down at him, saw his eyes closed, and immediately, I could 'see' Elliana in my arms.  Her eyes were closed.  But she wasn't sleeping anymore.  She was gone.

A Letter to Strangers

To the People I've Met Recently,

I don't have 4 children.  

I have *5*.

Well, actually, I have nine.  Ten, if you count my foster baby.  And I do count him.  :-)  But that gets really complicated.  

But out loud, when you (a stranger or new acquaintance) ask, 'How many children do you have?', I answer '4'.  And my heart is breaking as the words come out of my mouth.

But I can't say '5'.  You, a stranger, aren't asking me how many living and dead children I have.  Divulging that much information can put someone in a really awkward position.  Really awkward.  And I don't like to make people feel awkward.

But I need to make it right.  Somehow.  Virtually.  

This is what's true:

There isn't *just one girl amongst all those boys*.  

I do have my hands full with these four, but if I had my way, my hands would be even fuller.

There's another Lindegren whose earthly home isn't under my roof, but beneath a stone, and whose eternal home is already occupied.

I have another baby, a 'youngest', and almost a year ago she changed my life forever.

There might be four kids at the pool with me, but a huge piece of my heart is with the 'youngest' - the one who's not at the pool with me.

I may smile at you when I tell you about my four, but I wish more than anything that I could tell you about my 5th.  And show you a picture.

I still love to show people Elliana's picture.  I know I post pictures here on my blog and occasionally on Facebook.  So a lot of people have already seen her.  BUT... showing the pictures isn't about YOU seeing the pictures.  It's about me (as selfish as that sounds) - a mom who loves her baby girl and just likes to show off her picture and talk about her.

I do believe that another beer bottle (or 50) may get broken in the near future.  Shoulda taken the opportunity I had over the weekend.  

Trio/Duo

On my side of the family, there are 13 {14} cousins.

4 {5} L-kids (mine), 4 S-kids (my sister, Hayley’s), 4 W-kids (my sister, Ashley’s), and 1 O-kid (my brother, Daniel’s).

When we all get together…

*Elijah (11), Layla (11), Madelyn (10), and Susannah (7) are known as the ‘big kids’. 

*Rachel (5) and Levi (5), are the ‘middle kids’. 

*Missy (5), Elizabeth (4), and Bria (3) are the ‘little girls’. 

*Seth (2) and Wyatt (2) are just getting old enough to play together – beach week is coming up, and I’m certain they’ll create a name for themselves.  J 

In 2012, 3 more cousins were born.  Rebekah (born March 23), Dottie (June 20), and Elliana (October 5). 

When Dottie was born, we were just weeks away from finding out if Baby Lindegren was a boy or a girl.  I was SO hoping that it would be a girl – for several reasons – but two of those reasons were Rebekah and Dottie.

And for 30 minutes on July 3, between the moment the ultrasound tech said ‘It’s a girl’ and the moment my doctor said ‘I have some concerns about your daughter’, I was so excited – thankful – that the littlest cousins would be a baby girl trio.

And then… well, the trio is only a duo.

I remember Rebekah and Dottie at the graveside service.  I remember hearing them behind me.  They weren’t loud.  I don’t even think they cried.  But I remember hearing them there.  I’m glad they were there.  That was the only time the trio was ‘together’. 

At Thanksgiving, it was excruciating to be around Rebekah and Dottie.  I tried to be ‘ok’.  And my sister and sister-in-law were both so understanding.  I knew it was hard for them, too  - to be holding and taking care of their babies, and to be around me – the new mom who wasn't holding or taking care of a baby.

Christmas was equally as difficult.

The next time we were all together was at the end of March for the birthday-bash-for-any-cousin-with-a-birthday-between-January-and-May.  It was a little easier.  I held Rebekah on my lap at least once.  And I picked Dottie up when she was headed into 'forbidden territory' once.

Last Saturday, there was a big birthday party for Dottie at my parents' house.  As soon as I knew there was going to be a birthday party, I knew I wouldn't be able to go.  Way too many people, and way too much emotion.  I would have been a mess.  So we didn't go. 

The kids and I did, however, travel to South Carolina this past Thursday, June 20, on Dottie's birthday. I wanted to be a part of celebrating her birthday, and I thought I could probably handle a small celebration at my parents' house.  And it wound up being a good memory.  J  Dottie as a one-year-old doesn't remind me so much of my 2-pound-11-ounces Elliana.  Dottie is a toddler.  She has her own little personality, she talks (a lot), she eats table food.  Looking at her now is just... looking at my brother's little girl.  J  And that makes me happy - that my brother is a daddy, and that he has a little girl.

I was even able to get a picture with Dottie.  This was a 'happy moment' during our trip to South Carolina... 

**Psychotic moment:  Ok.  So I posted this picture on Facebook.  Not sure why - I just wanted to.  And now I'm not sure I should have and I'm thinking way too much about this and I think people just think I'm all happy now and that everything's fine and I'm all 'better'.  No one has actually said that.  That's just what I think everyone might be thinking.  So, for the record, I'M NOT ALL BETTER, EVERYTHING IS *NOT* FINE, AND MY HEART STILL ACHES ALL THE TIME.  

***I'm pretty sure no one needed to hear that.  I just needed to 'say' it.

I am very glad to have a picture of me and Dottie.  Maybe she'll be smiling in the next one.  :-)

Now I need a picture of me with my other one-year-old niece, Rebekah.  Maybe at the beach...

I have more thoughts, more on my mind, more to write.  But I'm spent.  Today's been a D A Y.  

Pictures

I was looking through my collection of pictures tonight, trying to find one to post on facebook in honor of Father's Day.

I chose this one:

I love how our hands, Jason's and mine, completely encircle her.  Jason loved her so much - his Ella Belle.

I may post this one tomorrow, in honor of my dad:

He arrived at the hospital at about 2am.  I just love my dad.  :-)

And when I saw this one again tonight... I just have no words.  Only memories.  And love.  I was holding her for the first time.

A metal baseball bat.  A really heavy metal baseball bat.

And about 1000 old computers.

I think I might feel better after that.

Metaphors

The mess is a bit more under control, thanks to a friend who came over a couple days ago to give me some direction.

Before she left, she looked at my living room, smiling, and told me that it looked really good.  I think she may have said that I'd gotten a lot done.

And all I wanted to do was cry.  I did cry.  I didn't want a clean living room.

(Crazy.)

I re-covered a chair last fall (or maybe in the winter?  Can't remember.)  I finished it late one night, and I cried as I finished it.  I sobbed when I was completely finished.  And before I could go to bed, I felt compelled to tear apart *another* chair.  So I took all the fabric off of another chair, and I felt better.

I can't sit in the re-covered chair.  I don't know why.

My friend (the one who dove into the mess in my house with me) has described these types of things as a 'metaphor' for something - something that's going on underneath all of the frantic bedroom painting, furniture rearranging, 'crap' purging, chair re-covering, and yard destruction.  I think she's right, but I don't really know what the metaphor is exactly.

I have recently started talking with a grief counselor.  He offered some perspective on the glass-shattering fixation I have, talking about its symbolism.  Although it was helpful to start thinking about why I want to throw things and break things and shatter things, and then clean them up, it was really painful.  It hurt a lot.  We didn't talk about it long.

But it does sorta help to think about what it all 'means'.  Because there is more to it than just throwing and destroying things.

Recent Headlines from the Garden

The Garden.  AKA:  the cemetery.

We've been calling it 'the garden' because it's just easier to say to our little ones that we're going to the 'garden' instead of the 'cemetery'.  And I like how Levi asks me sometimes if we're going to Elliana's garden, or if we're going to Hobby Lobby to pick out new flowers for the garden.  :-)

The weeping willow flowers are gone.  They've been replaced with a much smaller arrangement of bright spring-colored flowers.  I miss the cascade.

The newest 'neighbor' has her stone.  A little girl named Gracie.

I didn't realize that people use cemeteries for exercise and dog-walking purposes.  It caught me off guard for a while.  I think I'm used to it now.  And I don't find myself the least bit self-conscious when those dog-walking exercise people walk past me as I'm making new flower arrangements for Elliana's vase.  I don't care if I look crazy.

And that's so not me.  I have always cared if I look crazy.

Not anymore.

And... I hesitate to share this headline publicly.  But I will.

*Big Sigh*

I don't *think* it's printed anywhere in our cemetery guidelines that peeing on the grounds is prohibited.

Because for a brief moment, which felt like an eternity, I was certain that we were about to be fined.  Or imprisoned.

I was brushing off Elliana's stone while Seth and Levi 'played' around me.  And I remember hearing Seth say, 'Mom, I need to go potty.'

I had my back to him, so I just said, 'OK, Seth.  I'll take you in just a - '

I turned around, and I was looking at my 2-year-old's BARE BUTTOCKS.

(Whispering as loudly as I could, hoping that no one else had seen him or could hear me)  'Oh NO, Seth!  Stop!  You can't do that here!  Pull your pants back up!'

But it was too late.  The stream of pee had already started, and MY SON WAS PEEING IN BABY LAND.

At least he's only 2.

And at least he was peeing in the hedges.

But OH.MY.WORD.  Talk about complete and utter humiliation.  I was absolutely mortified.

I wonder, though - do you think Elliana and Jesus were laughing?  :-)

Can't Think of a Title, So We'll Just Call This 'Today's Blog Post'

The mess has gotten larger.  The project, bigger.  But the energy is gone.  As of about 4:45pm today, my energy (or perhaps it was more of a 72-hour adrenaline rush associated with my intense desire to completely destroy something) is gone.

I'm noticing a bit of a 'pattern'.  Down time = the deep ache.

As long as I keep going, as long as there's somewhere I have to be, someone I have to converse with, something I have to do, someone I have to tend to, the deep ache subsides.  But the moment any of those things stop, the deep ache returns.

So... do I just keep myself busy ALL THE TIME and never, ever think about Elliana or feel the deep ache again?

And if I don't keep myself busy all the time, what do I do when the deep ache returns?  It's not like I can push 'pause' on the kids and go play the piano or go to the cemetery.  Or go throw beer bottles.

I've recently learned that there's more than one kind of grief.  There's 'grief', and there's 'complicated grief'.

And I think that's all I want to say about that today.

I guess the good news is this:  after I've completely destroyed something (like the overgrown bushes and great big mound of weed-covered dirt in my back yard), it usually results in a completed project.  I tear something up, I clean it up (with Jason's help), and usually whatever I tore up looks better than it did before I destroyed it.

So eventually, when I'm done with my current project, I'll have 4 freshly painted/decorated, completely rearranged, and extremely organized bedrooms.

Let's hope the energy (or adrenaline) returns quickly.

Wish me luck.

Another Simple Comment

I taught some piano lessons today.  Which meant that a few students had to actually walk into the disaster area that is currently my living room because of my attempt to 'clean out' my bedroom.

The last student of the day had to sit on the couch and wait for a minute or two while I finished up the previous lesson.  When she sat down next to me at the piano bench, I apologized for the mess she'd had to look at.

This sweet girl, just 8 years old, without any hesitation at all, said, 'Oh, it's ok.  I was actually just looking at that picture of Elliana.  That's a picture of her, right?  She has so much pretty hair.'

It brought tears to my eyes.  But it was ok.

It helps for people to say her name.  To look at her picture.  To tell me they're looking at her picture.  It helps.

Sweet little LL, thank you.  When most of my thoughts were consumed with remembering the last few hours I had with her, your simple comment *helped me*.  Just by looking at her picture and saying her name.

You made my day.  :-)

A Simple Comment

One simple comment sparked a flame in my head today.

Today.  May 5.

I thought maybe today would be easier than the 5th day of past months.  But the heaviness - the deep ache - settled over me this morning.  Nothing in particular brought it on.  It just came.  It does that.

One simple comment today.

I told someone I was having a hard day today.

Her kind, simple comment:  'Everyone has days like that.'

This is what I've been telling myself today so that I won't throw tea glasses, vases, and beer bottles:

She was trying to be understanding.  Sympathetic.  She was trying to help me believe that I'm normal.  That I'm not crazy.  She was being kind.

But this was my instinctive response:

No.  Everyone doesn't have days like this.  My day has been hard because my daughter would have been 8 months old today.  My day has been hard because I let a song lyric make my sorrow feel cheesy and easily 'fixed'.  It's been hard because my little blond baby girl isn't riding in the van with me and her 4 older siblings.  It's been hard because I'm remembering the scary hours of that day, 8 months ago, that led to the decision to deliver her.  And it's been hard because delivering her led to the decision to stop the efforts to revive her, and that meant saying goodbye to her.  No.  Everyone doesn't have days like this.

I.  Miss.  Her.

I felt like tearing something apart tonight.  It was too dark and too late to break out the chainsaw, go out back, and start tearing down some trees.  And I think I should probably take a friend with me if I actually go throw a bunch of glass bottles at the rear of a vacant building I scoped out today for glass-shattering.  (Yes, I really did that.)  So instead, I took everything that either didn't belong in my bedroom or I didn't want in my bedroom and threw it out in the living room.  Now there's a huge mess in my living room.  A HUGE mess.

I wish grief were a little cleaner.  And easier.  And politer.